


Being Undone

by nypinta



Series: House of Barnes [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen, Inserting non-canon character, Language!, Second Person Perspective, X-23 meets The Avengers, just because i can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nypinta/pseuds/nypinta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuttgart. You remember walking through the square when you first heard the commotion, a rumbling mass of panic as a crowd runs out of the museum. Men and women in their splendid vestments and jewels, running for their lives, running into traffic, fear stark on their pampered faces. Others around you run in response, but you, no you just had to see what had them in such hysterics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Undone

Stuttgart. You remember walking through the square when you first heard the commotion, a rumbling mass of panic as the crowd runs out of the museum. Men and women in their splendid vestments and jewels, running for their lives, running into traffic, fear stark on their pampered faces. Others around you run in response, but you, no _you_ just had to see what had them in such hysterics. 

Then you saw him, a grinning menace in green and black. Hair slicked back and his face all twinkling mischief and teeth. Because you had to be nosy you end up herded with the rest, told to kneel in front of him. You obey, but just to blend in rather than actual fear of him. 'Who is this asshole' you think. But the terror flows from the crowd around you and you realize they must have witnessed him doing something truly horrific.

He is speechifying. You are ignoring him and instead are studying the crowd, knowing there will be at least one... And then you spot him. One man who has courage you admire but want to curse. The old fool is going to get himself killed. He stands up to the grinning man and points out he is nothing new. Oh, that stung. You smile in spite of the danger. Then you see the weapon being raised and without thinking of the danger to yourself you jump up and run at the man, throwing yourself in between him and the blast.

It hits you squarely on the back and pain explodes, dances down every nerve and vein, in a searing lace of fire that takes your breath away and fills your mind with blinding light. Time slows down as the energy from the unknown weapon envelopes you, rolling over your skin, burning as it does so with molten heat, and curves around your hips onto your stomach and chest, down you legs and your arms, and even begins it's slow meticulous crawl up your neck, burning off layers of skin as it does so. You want to scream but all control over your body is gone and after an eternity in the fire you finish the arc you had started when first diving at the old man and you hit the ground in a thud.

The pain is all encompassing now, taking up all the room in your being, pulling you apart, as if you are being undone, and putting you back together in even more painful configurations over and over again, each time increasing the agony geometrically. Maybe, you think, just maybe this time when you die- and with this much pain you know it is a certainty- maybe you will not wake back up. You would savor the thought but it's ripped away as it forms as incoherence takes hold again. Time crashes back to full speed and you feel your heart pounding against your chest, hitting the metal in your ribs, searing it with each beat. As your lungs exhale their last, you realize your claws are out and the last thing you think is hoping they had not hit the old man on the way down. It was one thing to die at the hand of that verdant jackass playing at god, but if the old man ends up dying too you are going to be furious. 

*********

You wake up slowly, your entire body feeling as if it has been boiled alive. Your skin is puffy, but cooling. You can't open your eyes yet, so you don't. Moving is pain. Breathing is pain. But hearing you can do. So you listen. 

Whoever is tending to you likes to talk. To you, to other caregivers, hell, maybe even to the wall. They mention that the "others", (a word that feels colored with distrust), think the weapon itself is what brought you back. That the Asgardian technology must have regenerated you and they whisper to each other about how tech like that is a miracle. You would laugh but your lungs still burn like a furnace.

The gossipers call the gleaming narcissist that almost killed you Loki. _The_ Loki. Oh fantastic. Your education was very specific but even you know the myths about the Norse trickster God. He is the one that was supposed to end the world, yet he couldn't even kill you. Loser. 

The pain starts to subside and the swelling around your eyes eases enough that you can finally open them. White ceiling, bright lights. You wince. For fuck sake, why are the lights always so bright in hospital rooms? 

You try to sit up, but can not. 

Restraints. 

You are restrained.

No. 

No no no.

Not again. 

The pain that consumed you is replaced by blind fear and you yank at the restraints around your wrists. Why are they so strong? That makes you panic more. 

Off, off, off, get off!!!

Finally you are able to get enough slack in the strap that one blade from your claws can reach to create a small cut, even though it means forcing your own wrist out of joint. Small price to pay for freedom. Besides, it will heal. With the integrity in the leather compromised, brute strength finishes the job. You are able to get one hand free just as white clad men and one stout woman burst in the door. Slashing at the other restraint, you are free and ready to fight. Two beefy orderlies are the first to fall under your barrage of punches and kicks, the woman that was wielding a syringe goes down with just one kick to the neck. Guards rush in next, both to be taken out in seconds. Leaping over the pile of bodies, you slam into the wall across the hall from the doorway to your room in your rush to escape, turning quickly expecting to have more guards to fight, but the hall is empty. Picking a direction at random, you run. There are no signs, not indication of floor level or ward, not even any EXIT signs pointing the way in case of an emergency. 

Where the hell are you?

You are just about to turn a corner but training and instinct kick in, so you wait and listen. Guards are running in your direction, conversing with a static filled voice about a hostile on the loose. 

'That would be me,' you think. 

Hostile. 

You grin wide. Hell yes. 

The guards fall easily. You take their radio, but leave their guns. Guns are noisy. 

You find stairs and take them, choosing to go down. A few floors below you hear more guards running up. You take the next door leading to another unmarked hall. 

What is this place? 

Then it hits you. Correction, _she_ hits you. A woman in a black suit and blazing red hair had jumped on your back, twisting her body weight and manages to flip you around onto the ground. The radio skittering across the floor, forced out of your hand by the impact with floor. Rolling out of the way of a well placed kick, you spring up to block the next few blows. This woman is trained, but your strength keeps you on your feet, something that seems to frustrate her. So she sweeps your legs out from underneath you, sending you back to the floor. Again you are able to roll out of the way of her next attack, but instead of meeting her next blow face forward, you take it to your back, hoping to throw off her rhythm. In the pause after the blow, you throw yourself backwards with all your strength, pushing her into the wall, hard. All of the air is forced out of her lungs and you hear her head slam into the wall as well. Turning, you see her eyes darken from the blow, but she refuses to fall. You pin her right hand to the wall with your knee, the other you pin using two of your claws around her wrist to dig into the wall, and then you put your fist against her throat, extending two claws in the same manner around her neck, the third extending just to graze the skin. 

She freezes. 

Is she an agent of this place or a tool? 

Why did you think that? You go over your struggle and realize she had several chances at kill shots that she did not take. 

"Are you free?" You ask her. 

Her brows come together, puzzled. Is it because you have not taken the kill shot either? 

"Hey!" A very tall man in a ridiculous flag costume yells from down the hall. 'Oh, he is a tool', you think to yourself. You push back a little from the woman to get a better look at your new foe. She takes a breath to shout but whatever she was about to say is cut off by a flying disk, flung from the man with deadly, if it was not you it hit, accuracy. It strikes you in the face, which is rude, and slices open your skin from temple to lower jaw. 

Instinctively you back up, pushing one hand to the wound. The woman does not strike however, but the man has closed the distance already and has rushed you, knocking you to the floor. You both spring up and he looks in shock at your wound, which you can feel is already closing, then he looks down at his shield on the floor between you. Before he can reach it, you kick it with your bare foot into an open doorway, the metal of the shield ringing like a bell from contact with you, sending strange almost painful vibrations up your leg to your hip that almost makes you buckle under the sensation, but you are able to keep yourself standing. He ignores the loss of his weapon and takes advantage of your momentary weakness and grabs you by both arms, pinning them, as he slams you to the wall. Then he says the stupidest thing an enemy has ever said to you in the middle of fight, "Ma'am, stop struggling! You're hurt!" 

You think two things. First, that he called you "ma'am". _What the actual...?_ The second is how soft his lips look. 

So you head butt him. He steps back in pain and just as you are about to punch his perfect face, you hear another voice from halfway down the hall, "Miss Kinney!" a man in a dark suit shouts, causing you and your adversary to pause and watch as he comes closer. He lowers his voice as he gets closer, "I must apologize for how you were treated while in our care." He gives the tall blonde man and the woman significant looks, but the command to stand down is clear even to you, "Our agents were following protocol to protect themselves, and you."

Completely baffled, you look at the new man's earnest face. He is so calm, his breath even despite his sprint towards you and Captain Stars and Stripes. He continues, "If you would please, come with me. There is someone who has been looking for you."

"I will not go back," you say reflexively, with less calm then you wanted to let show, thinking it was The Facility.

The man in the dark suit is confused, "Miss Kinney, you are a guest of SHIELD, you don't have to go anywhere."

You have heard of them but are surprised they know who you are...Have you been arrested, finally? For everything The Facility made you do? All of your fight drains in an instant, as if you have been waiting for this moment and now that it is here you can finally fully relax. But you find you are unable to move, your body feeling numb as your thoughts are flooded with the enormity of all your past crimes. 

The woman with the red hair steps forward, perhaps sensing the why of your sudden stillness, "It's your choice." She means it. From personal experience? You nod, but stay quiet.

They must have felt that a decision had been made because the man in the dark suit smiles briefly and then extends an arm indicating you should walk with him. You do, a bit reluctant to have the perfect man in the flag outfit at your back, but the look of confusion on his face is enough to satisfy he has no intention of doing anything till he gets answers too. 

The man in the suit introduces himself as you walk, "I'm Agent Coulson."

"Laura" you say. 

"It's good to meet you finally, Laura."

"You know who I am?" Technically a question, but you say it as a statement of fact.

"We've been keeping tabs on you for quite some time," Coulson confirms. You say nothing. He continues, "I don't suppose you need medical attention for the wound on your face?" 

You smirk and lift your hair, the gash fully closed and healed over without a scar. But you still shoot the tall blonde man a look of recrimination. Agent Coulson notes the direction of your gaze and says, "I see you've met Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff."

"Not formally," you respond, enjoying Agent Coulson's dry way of seeing your meeting. But then you think about how Captain America, a hero from "the greatest generation", threw his shield at your face. He is going to pay for that, you decide. But you were able to go up against Black Widow, which you admit to yourself was very informative. You have admired her style for years, but now having sparred with her, you are sure you could defeat her should the need arise. You really hope though that the need never arises.

Eventually all four of you walk onto a bridge of some sort. Is this a boat? You count the doors, vents, and number of crew you might have to take out in the time it takes Natasha and Steve to sit at the large table where an even larger blonde stands at the head of, facing the rest. One of the assembled calls him Thor. You sigh. More gods. Threat level unknown. Then you take a moment to consider Tony Stark who is standing above them all. So typical of him, you think with derision. Next to him is a man someone calls Dr. Banner. So that is what he looks like when he is not a hulking mass of rage. You concede there is not much difference between you under the influence of trigger scent and what he becomes when the Hulk is unleashed. Best way to take him out would be stealth, you surmise, defeating Banner before his alter-ego can emerge. You are not really listening to what they are saying, not needing to in order to follow the conversation. But your focus is fully caught when you hear the name again, the name of the man with the weapon of pure pain. Loki.

He is the blonde man's brother and in a very short time span spent on Earth apparently he has already killed over 80 people...and he is on board this very vessel? On purpose, you think. Loki's purpose. You realize that things are going to get very interesting, very soon, and the people gathered on this bridge have not come to the same conclusion yet. 

"And he shot me," you interject. 

Thor, with his glorious hair, and did you just think "glorious" about a man's hair, turns to look at you with great concern and demands in a voice that is both booming and honey, "Yet you live. How?"

"Spite," you say darkly. 

Tony Stark chuckles. You wish you could punch him in the face. 

You turn to Coulson, "Is this why I am here? Because of the jackass in the horned hat?"

"No. It's because of the man you saved from being killed by the jackass," a new voice replies. 'Oh great', you think, 'No good deed...' You turn and see a tall imposing man clad all in black leather stride up to stand in front of all those gathered. The legendary Nick Fury. He looks at you with such intensity with his one eye you feel like you're being undone all over again.

"It seems SHIELD is recruiting off the street now," Tony says with something that sounds like glee but has undertones of venom. You scowl. Entitled asshat. 

You look away from Fury and notice Steve Rogers is scowling slightly too. Seems he is not a fan of Tony Stark either. Despite your earlier shield-to-face interaction, that makes you appreciate his sensible judgement. Just a little. 

Rogers looks at you with a thoughtful expression, "Why did you intervene?"

"Is he alright?" you ask in return.

Banner speaks for the first time and says quietly, "Yeah. He'll live. Just a few bruises."

You exhale slowly, not realizing how tense you had been for that answer. Then you shrug and address the original question truthfully, "I don't like bullies." 

Captain America's perfect eyebrows shoot up and you note a knowing smile play on Black Widow's face. 

'What the hell did I just do now?', you wonder.

Agent Coulson steps to your side and says quietly, "Welcome to the team."

'My choice, huh?', you think with a sigh. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Tony objects, "We need the rest of her resume first." He looks around at the rest with arms wide, "Right?" 

"You really don't," you warn.

No one says anything, but you note Bruce Banner looking at you with an odd, wary expression, which to you makes him the smartest man int he room, while the rest are waiting with open curious, with exception of Coulson, and Fury, who have all probably read whatever file SHIELD has on you. The idea makes you slightly uncomfortable. If they know what you are, what kind of team are they asking you to join?

But Stark's objection makes you want to join despite that reservation, just to spite him. Not the best way to make decisions. But he inspires contrariness like sunlight inspires birdsong. It feels natural, it feels right, and the hell with him anyway.

Tony moves off the dais, which is how you are sure he was thinking of it, to stand in front of you, "So, tough stuff. What can you do? What's your skill?"

"Tenacity," you reply tersely.

"Surviving impossible odds? Yeah? Been there, sweetie." 'Oh, there it is', you think with an inward snarl. 

"Yes, your miraculous escape from the very people you have been supplying with weapons all these years... I think I read a blurb about that."

Tony scoffs, and actually rolls his eyes at your retort, as if he was a 14 year old girl. But before he can say something else, you decide to put all the cards on the table. "Fine. It was impressive how you were able to extract yourself from an uncomfortable situation," he snorts at the description but you continue, "by encasing yourself in that iron suit," you admit. He smiles, taking in the compliment. "But your armor is removable." You hold up a hand and release the claws full length with their tell tale *snit*. To your satisfaction he steps back and you are aware of the others reacting as well, including a rather colorful oath uttered by Thor. "Mine is not," you continue. You retract them and let him see how the wounds they made seal and heal instantly.

All pretense is gone and on his face is simple incredulity. You can see his mind working, either calculating the pounds of pressure it takes to release the claws, or contemplating the number of red and white blood cells that flood your knuckles to heal the wounds so quickly and perhaps what kinds of tests he would need to run so he could duplicate it...

He takes your hand without asking to examine it and you can actually feel the others tense. The expression on your face must have been fantastic. "Does it hurt?" Is all he asks, to your surprise.

"Every time."

He gives you a long appraising look, almost as intense as Nick Fury's gaze had been. Then he leans in and asks you quietly, so the others can not hear, "You felt every moment of that weapon, didn't you?" You swallow and find you can not answer, the memory too fresh, so you nod instead. He swears and although the blue words are uttered in a whisper, the fire behind them is pure and for a moment you think perhaps a reassessment is in order. He turns to the others, putting on his bravado once again, "She's in!" As if it was actually only up to him. So, maybe your first instinct about him was right after all.

'Fantastic,', you think, not really meaning it. But on the other hand, maybe you will get the chance to pull out all of Loki's many many teeth. 

You decide the best way to show you accept is offer your skills. "Do you need me to interrogate this Loki?" You ask, hoping the answer is yes. 

Thor chuckles. "Do you think your bladed hands can harm one from Asgard?"

He makes a fair point. But you are really willing to give it a try.

"Your kind have greater strength, then?" you ask, and Thor smirks. "Impenetrable skin?" His smirk grows and he looks back to to the others almost to gloat. "What about the eyes?" you continue. His smirk falls. "All things bleed," you point out, "eventually."

Silence follows your statement, broken finally by Agent Coulson, "No, I think we'll try a softer approach first."

You shrug your shoulders. Amateurs.

**Author's Note:**

> Love the Marvel-verse but the ratio of male superheroes to female superheroes is a bit skewed, so in my head I always had X-23 (who is a little more pop-culture savvy than she is in the comics) sort of tagging along even if she wasn't seen on screen. So, here's how I think she would have fit.
> 
> 12/15, pretty sure I am finally done tinkering with it.


End file.
